


This is Halloween

by will_o_wisp



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 01:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_o_wisp/pseuds/will_o_wisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets for the Hansencest Halloween week on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And my blood is all I see, as you steal my soul from me

**Author's Note:**

> Day One: Blood
> 
> Because what's blood without vampires?

Blood dripped down from Herc's chest from a self inflicted wound. It landed first on the forehead of the nearly dead boy below him, who was gasping, on the very edge of crossing over to the Undying Lands. A gentle shift watched the trail shift until it finally began to land on the boy's lips, drop by drop.

He was a boy in age. Twenty one – barely two decades, to Herc's fifty. Herc was old, but not impossibly so, not yet. But old enough now to want a sire. Old enough to not really want to be alone anymore, since being born in such a similar way, dying on a battlefield.

More blood dripped, and the pink tongue drying out in the boy's mouth licked over his pale lips with little more than a subconscious reflex. He moaned, a raspy barely alive sort of sound, and Herc smiled. His own lips peeled back over sharp teeth, and he rubbed the lower along the edge of a fang until more blood, ripe from feeding on the boy, welled up.

Herc leaned down and kissed him.

The boy barely kissed back. Smearing blood on their tongue brought more life to their kisses, until he felt the boy shudder and gasp underneath of him as the first snatches of the embrace began to work it's deadly magic.

Right now, Charles Barton was making a choice beneath Herc. To go to the light, or to stay here in the moment with the mysterious old man he'd fallen in love with. If Herc had been a kinder being, he might have let Chuck live his human life out of love. But kindness wasn't given to Herc any longer, and hadn't for several hundred years.

Blunt teeth bit down, like a kitten looking for its mothers teat, desperate for anything. Herc let Charles bite harder, until he obliged, biting his own lip again until the blood flowed.

The suckling got harder and harder until sharp fangs slashed at Herc's mouth, and with a growl Herc pulled away. He had barely a flash of purple eyes watching him before he tilted his head and felt his Child strike at his throat.

“Good boy.”

Chuck, his name was Chuck. He could feel that in his head now. Chuck getting strong on Herc's blood, with each gulp. His cock was rock hard against Herc's thigh, and Herc obliged as he reached down to spread his legs, rocked his own hips forward to press his own length at the boy's entrance.

 _Sire-father-Herc_ was a mixing of words in his head and he pulled away from Chuck's mouth, leaving the Child puling for more.

He reached down, palming him, and Chuck shuddered and gasped, rocking his hips with his thirst momentarily forgotten, set aside. Herc leaned down to devour Chuck in a hungry kiss, as he pushed his own hips forward.

Already wet from their previous love-making, the final gift of feeling to a human that would no longer have the luxury of the sensation, Herc slid inside of him, making Chuck cry out, fingers clawing. Herc growled at him, slamming his hips forward.

“Father,” Chuck rasped, his first word in his new life. Not please, not some low breathy moaned out yes or no, but _father._

Herc liked that. Father. It made him shudder and moan, fucking into him faster, making Chuck twist and writhe. Herc knew Chuck was feeling differently, the pleasure of blood in his belly, the pleasure of fucking, the connection between them. Overwhelming, for a human mind, and he knew it was pushing Chuck's brain to the edge to try and deal with it so soon.

 _Baby boy,_ he thought, and watched Chuck as Chuck arched back so beautifully, his answer a long whine as his fingers dug in like he wanted to tear a hole in Herc and crawl inside.

But he was inside already, and Herc in him, as he forced him down, kissed him hard, his own hands squeezing hard enough to nearly break bones.

Chuck came with a cry, when Herc's thoughts continued to one of love for his new Child. He didn't say it, but the emotions flowing across the link rushed into Chuck and snapped him like a brittle twig. He shot white over his stomach, collapsing into himself, sweaty and mewling.

Herc finished a moment later with a grunt, fucking in his come for a few moments, before he pulled out and lay alongside Chuck.

 _Are you alright?_ He asked, turning Chuck's head so he could press his own forehead to it.

 _Yes,_ was the reply, and Herc could feel it. The way the boy was against feeling so vulnerable but enjoying the sensation anyhow.

The Sire leaned over to kiss his Child, the boy who was his blood now. His life.


	2. my black fire's burning bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day One: Blood (Bonus)
> 
> Serial Killer AU. I'm a little creepy this way...

 “You're all wet, baby boy,” said Herc, in a gentle voice that only became that way when he was sated in the same way that Chuck was. Calmer. Neater.

Chuck looked at his hand and nodded, then turned to give Herc a smile. He looked positively angelic, if it wasn't for the blood painting over the walls and bed spread.

“Neater,” said Chuck, letting himself be helped up. He looked half-dazed into Herc's eyes before leaning in for a kiss. The two of them moaned at it, wet fingers pushing through hair, lips parting, tongues sliding together.

“Not so neat,” said Herc, when he pulled away. “Bath time.”

Like Chuck was three again, he pulled him along to where he'd already drawn one.

Herc was the brutal one, and Chuck the more precise. But when the ending came, it was Chuck who wanted to climb over top and watch the last moments intently. Like watching the life leave someone's eyes might give him some kind of answer.

“I have an idea daddy,” said Chuck, licking his lips as he let himself be stripped and directed into the steaming water. He liked the after-care, even if he'd shun it in another hour, back to his old self.

“What's that?”

“I want to give them hope next time.”


	3. now you're here, but you're not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda angst heavy...

Light swelled with a wave of blistering heat. Herc screamed, as he felt it rake his body, scorching his skin and cracking it, sizzling it, before the rush of dark.

Water slammed him down, and he felt himself pulled into oblivion in all the ways Chuck hadn't been. He was enveloped by the tides and suspended in water that felt like nothing.

Far below, he could see the Breach like a giant maw, opening to swallow him whole.

Something was swimming, and Herc thought maybe it was a kaiju. That maybe it was time, that he could be swallowed whole and finally join Chuck and leave the hellish purgatory he was trapped in.

It was rising for him, and Herc started to squirm because he knew this part. He knew what happened next and he started to plead no but the water was in his mouth and his lungs and wouldn't let him _drown._

Below a ghost of the son he loved stared. In a million pieces and somehow whole. Broken and unbroken, bloody and clean, snapped and solid.

“ _Dad,”_ it said, holding out its hands. Vapour swirling around Herc and drawing him in. _“Dad how could you?”_

Herc tried to speak again. He tasted only salt.

“ _Dad how could you let this happen to me? You said you'd protect me. I'm your son. You said that. Your only son...”_

 _I tried to protect you,_ thought Herc, reaching forward, but he couldn't touch Chuck no matter how hard he tried. The pressure was starting to destroy Herc, crush him piece by piece. _I tried._

“ _You abandoned me.”_

_NO_

“ _You left me to die._ Sent _me to die.”_

Herc screamed, or tried to. Reached for him with clawing fingers as the breach swallowed them both in another wave of heat, and all he could hear were Chuck's damning words echoing through his head.

\+ + +

He woke with the words still in his head, tears on his cheeks, heart pounding in his chest. He felt like he'd been screaming. The bed was drenched with sweat.

“Hey. Relax old man,” murmured a voice, and Herc slumped at once, clinging to each word, “how're you and I going to get any beauty sleep, with you screaming like that?”

Herc was staring at the ceiling. “I'm sorry.”

“I know you are.”

“I love you.”

“...I know you do.”

Herc didn't bother looking over. He still wasn't entirely sure someone would be there.


	4. and we'll hope and we'll die all to no avail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Serial Killer AU. Creepy

Laurence Harland was dragged. He barely fought it, because his head wasn’t all there. He felt fuzzy, wrong, and when he tried to speak words that seemed sensible in his brain came out in an unpleasant jumble. He had no idea who he was, not really.

He reached up with one hand, but it was swatted away. Sort of like a mother to a willful child, thought Laurence, and he wondered why he was here.

The clang of a door was like a wedge through Laurence’s skull. It seemed to strike his brain, causing pain to radiate downwards until it went fuzzy and soft and distant. Like an afterthought of pain.

Head coming clearer from the noise, the stimulus, he glanced over after being dragged through a wet spot on the ground. A man was tied to the wall, hair glinting ginger in the dull light.

Laurence opened his mouth, but just then the man who was dragging him dropped him. Head clipping the cement floor, pain burst again behind his eyes. Pain, blessed senses clearing pain.

“Please,” he heard, probably from the other man.

“Shut your trap,” was the response, and the other let out a small sound, like he’d begged enough already. Like he’d lost hope.

 _Where the fuck am I and why is this happening?_  Thought Laurence desperately, but he was being dragged again. Rope, scratchy used up stuff, was being wrapped around him, his wrists. He tried to struggle, but his legs still weren’t working. His hands were just coming out of their haze, and still fumbling.

Something rough and metal was dragged along between the crease of his pressed together hands, and then the man stepped away.

“You’ll be comfortable there, Harland,” they said, and Laurence’s eyes looked up to see him.

Mid to late forties, ginger like the man in the corner. Rough around the edges, wearing a beat up old henley. He tried to find identifying marks and his eyes lit on the dog tags, too far away to read.

It was like they knew what he saw, because then they smiled and there was no comfort to be found in the gesture. “You get comfy,” he said. “You two will be roommates for awhile.”

They turned and left. Again, Laurence wondered  _why him._  Sure, he’d done things, things he knew were horrible. But he’d kept those things secret. No one knew them.

He turned his head to look at his ‘roommate.’ He was probably in his early twenties, maybe he hadn’t even reached them yet. He might have been one of those cock-sure people Laurance hated, if he hadn’t looked so dejected laying there, staring at the door with dried tear tracks on his dirty face.

“Hey.”

The boy didn’t turn to look, which pissed Laurence off. The boy was barely older than  _that_  age, and he had no right to ignore an adult.

“ _Hey.”_

Finally, the kid looked over. He looked desolate, like he’d been here a long time. Waiting.

“What the fuck is going on here.”

There was a peculiar expression on the boy’s face. Almost like he was schooling himself to look a certain way, feel a certain way, but the illusion broke a moment later. His face crumpled, and he looked down.

“Dad’s mad.”

“Wait.” Laurence shook his head. “That man, who did this to  _us,_  is your fucking father?”

He nodded. “I’ve never seen him so mad before.” His voice was small.

Getting a better look at the lad, he could tell there was nothing exactly small about him. His estimate of eighteen or nineteen held, but the ginger boy was clearly starting to come into his own, like he trained very hard to look the way he did. Seeing him shackled and beaten was strange.

But his size had been nothing on the brute that drugged Laurence and dragged him in here.

“Your dad is a sick fuck, you know that kid?”

The boy winced, and he looked over. “You shut up,” he said, like he couldn’t decide to spit it like venom or plead it, like he couldn’t stand to hear trash talking even though he was tied up in a dark room with a stranger.

Laurence looked away from the boy. In the center of the room there was one of those old gurney’s. The kind you saw in old TV shows, where they strapped you down. It made his mouth go dry. Next to it was a tray. Laurence wondered what could be up there, but when he stretched against his ropes he couldn’t do anything.

The place was dirty, damp. Laurence wondered if he was going to die in here.

“I just wanted to help.” The sound was small.

And it tugged on something in Laurence. Not sympathy. He didn’t have much room for sympathy. But he knew people like the kid. Knew how they needed a firm hand or they’d be completely lost. People like this boy here, they needed to be dominated by people like Laurence. Maybe even people like this boy’s 'dad.’

“Help,” he repeated, sounding disgusted.

There was a bang outside of the room that made Laurence start, tugging against his ropes, and the boy squeaked, trying to get small.

“I was just cleaning his things! Not help with this! I just… was cleaning.”

“And you found something you shouldn’t have?”

The answer wasn’t to be found, apparently. The door banged open, with a little more light. Laurence got a good look at him now. He was big, rough looking. Ginger hair like the boy, he could see the family resemblance now as the man walked into the room.

Eyes remote, they scanned first the boy, then Laurence. Like he was deciding something.

The decision was made, though, when the boy couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Dad, please,” he said, and the man snapped his eyes back to the boy.

“Shut your mouth, Chuck.”

“Dad-”

“I hate it when you make me do this.”

Laurence was used to taking people in hand. Used to saying that very phrase. But there was something different seeing it happen. Seeing the big man walk over, yanking Chuck off of his hook on the wall and making him stumble.

The fight was brief. The ropes came loose, and the father punched his son a few times, until they were sagged and useless. Then they were tied down, forced in. The fight came back, but only for a moment, until they were struggling against the leather straps.

The father cooed softly, saying something Laurence couldn’t make out. Maybe it was mocking, he wasn’t sure, but he saw as the father lifted a knife.

At the angle he was on, he didn’t see the penetration. But he did see the burst of blood bubble down and hit the floor. And he couldn’t block out the screams.

\+ + +

He wished he could be an actor, Chuck was sure he’d be good at it.

Next best thing he supposed.

The Mark, Laurence Harland, wasn’t much of an audience though. From where Chuck was screaming on the table he could smell vomit, like old Laurence couldn’t handle seeing the sort of shit he nearly did himself on a daily basis.

Laurence Harland was a rapist piece of shit. Chuck couldn’t wait to kill him.

He caught Herc’s eyes, caught the loving look his daddy had for him in them, and Chuck made a soft whimpering sound like he was broken. Like his dad cutting him open, pretending to play with his insides, had reached a limit and he was done. Destroyed. That Chuck Hansen was no longer a person.

His daddy was talking, too.

“You had to step out of line, Chuck,” he was saying. “You couldn’t have just been daddy’s good boy, no. You had to snoop. But that’s okay. Daddy wants to see how well he made you.”

Herc’s hand slid over Chuck’s stomach, finding another bag of blood that was tapped there, and puncturing it. A fresh wave of blood.

Chuck made a sound at that, and he enjoyed the look of praise Herc gave him as he arched off the bed and then squirmed like he was trying to get away.

“That’s enough of that,” said Herc, withdrawing a bloody hand. It stroked down Chuck’s front, and Chuck shuddered as it palmed his hard cock. He was so excited right now if his dad told him to get on his knees he would, let himself be fucked without more than spit for lube, he was so horny.

“Can’t let you wear out so soon.”

Chuck whimpered, and Herc touched his face once. It was a little painful, from the punches, but he’d told his father not to hold back when the time came.

He waited patiently, as Herc 'stitched’ him. He moaned weakly, when Herc slapped a prepared bloody bandage over his wound, didn’t move as his bonds were undone, and without mercy, Herc rolled him off the gurney.

Chuck hit the ground hard, doing his best to fall naturally. His head ached when it hit the ground, he tasted a little blood, but otherwise he was fine.

Herc left the room. And like a crocodile in the weeds, Chuck waited.

It didn’t take long.

“Hey. Hey kid.”

Chuck moaned in response.

“Kid. Chuck.”

The use of his name made him burn with anger. Scum like Harland didn’t deserve to use anyone’s name. He didn’t react though, except to move his head enough to stare blankly.

“Kid, I know you’re hurting,” said Harland, and Chuck resisted the urge to shriek with laughter at him, but he held it down rather well he was sure. “But he didn’t tie you up.”

Well that hadn’t taken him long.

“If you just move enough to grab a knife, just enough, we might be able to get free.”

Chuck swallowed. “He’ll kill us.”

“He’ll kill us if we don’t!”

Closing his eyes, Chuck made a whining sound.

“Look, kid, just do it! We can get you fixed up!”

He dithered a little longer. Enough, just enough, to really make Harland desperate, before he finally began to drag himself towards the table with the knives. Crying out when he pushed himself to his knees, making an almost-scream when he pretended to lose his strength and sent the tray with the knives crashing to the ground.

There was a tense moment for Harland, Chuck was sure, waiting to see if Herc had heard, but then following the hissed encouragement Chuck selected the largest, his favourite, knife. Dragged himself back towards his victim.

Pretended to cry the whole time.

“Just cut me loose now,” said Harland. “We’ll get the drop on him if you hurry.”

Chuck nodded, wiping away fake tears. “But… but he’s my dad. Why would he do this?”

“Because he’s fucking sick, kid, what can I tell you,” he said. “Hurry up.”

“He used to love me.”

“ _Hurry the fuck up!”_

“Do you think,” said Chuck, staring at the knife, “he’d love me again if I killed you for him?”

\+ + +

Laurence felt hope draining away with the last question. He stared in horror, as resolve started to show up on the shit head kid’s face.

“No, he can’t love anyone. Just let me go. Please.” He sounded hysteric, even to his own ears.

“But he used to love me. I mean he never  _said,_  but I could tell.”

“Kid, don’t, you’re making a mistake, just  _untie me_  and we can get out of here and-”

The door clanged open and Laurence quaked. His opportunity, wasted because of this little shit here, getting second thoughts over his fucked up dad.

Chuck turned to look at his dad, eyes wide. “D-daddy…”

“Chuck,” the words were soft, deadly. “Put down the knife.”

“But… I thought…”

“Don’t think, you stupid boy. You thought well earlier, look at what you’ve made me do.”

“Shut up!” said Chuck, staring, full of some kind of need that made Laurence sure that this man would kill him. Soon. “I just… thought. If I killed him. Maybe you’d… love me again.”

The father’s face changed. Like it was growing soft, touched. “Oh Chuckie, you know daddy loves you. He shows you all the time,” he knelt. “You just made daddy do something bad.”

 _Oh Christ._  Were they fucking? Probably. The crazy fucker was killing people, probably a psycho killer, and was fucking his son. Laurence struggled, but he was being ignored.

“I know. And I want you to love me again.”

The father knelt behind the son. His lips touched Chuck’s ear. “Then do it.”

Chuck nodded, raising the knife.

“If you do this, I’ll be  _so_  proud,” continued the father.

Laurence screamed, as Chuck struck.


	5. watch me unravel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Three - Costumes

“What about this one?” asked Chuck, holding up a costume, and Herc glanced at it and shrugged.

Chuck lowered the costume. “Really?”

“What?”

With a grumbling sigh, Chuck put it back on the rack.

They were in a costume store, something high end enough to need an appointment and with price tags that made Herc balk.

Of course, he wasn’t exactly being helpful. In fact, he was the opposite of helpful. Herc apparently had a problem Halloween. Of course, Chuck couldn’t remember a lot of good memories of Halloween. Everything was faded into obscurity before the war began. Chuck wished he could remember better.

Chuck looked at the attendant. “Go have a coffee break. We’ll tip extra,” he said.

The girl nodded, with a nervous glance between the two of them, and disappeared to the front of the store.

“Why’d you send her away?”

“Why are you such a goddamn stick in the fuckin’ mud?”

Herc looked around at him, frowning deeply. “Oi. Watch your mouth.”

“No. Help me out here, we’re supposed to be dressing up.” Chuck walked among the racks. “How about this?”

When his dad did nothing more than shrug, Chuck made an impatient noise. He’d hardly looked. He shoved the costume back on the rack, glancing around, until his eyes lit on something. He smirked.

“Look, how about I try one on, then you tell me if you hate it or like it?”

“Right, fine,” said Herc, still dismissive as he walked away, leaving Chuck alone to pick what he wanted off the shelves.

Chuck clucked his tongue, as he selected a few off the racks. In the higher end store there seemed to be less of the idea that everything for women had to be ‘sexy’ but there was still plenty of skimpy things to find in a variety of sizes.

He breezed past Herc with the things he’d chosen, and started picking through them. Between what he had, he figured he could make quite the interesting outfit.

His first choice was a Roman emperor, and when he stepped outside in his skimpy toga, his dad’s eyes went big and gave him a once over, before he turned away, apparently indifferent.

It pissed Chuck off even more.

“Alright, fine,” he said, turning back, picking through the clothes. Some of these things were meant for women, he was sure. But Chuck was young still, growing into his body at nineteen, and he wasn’t about to be put off. So he pulled things on, until he’d assembled himself a nicely dystopic outfit, something people would have liked when Chuck was a kid and a dystopia was like a spooky idea and not a horrifying reality.

He opened the door.

Herc’s mouth opened. “What the hell, kid?”

“What?” he turned, showing off his bare stomach. “I’m a strong, independent hero that don’t need no man.”

“Liar,” said Herc, his eyes flickering over the way the leather was hugging Chuck’s ass, and how tight the shirt was. “What are you, Laura Croft?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Take that stupid thing off. You aren’t going to the costume party dressed like  _that.”_

“Like you’re going to stop me,” Chuck retorted, hands on his hips. “I’ll wear what I like. Maybe someone will enjoy what they see. Dance with me.” Chuck rolled his hips.

Herc’s eyes were on the motion. “They wouldn’t dare.”

“Bet the Gage Twins would dance with me.”

It was all the goading he needed to give, as Herc walked forward, pressing him back into the curtained off change room. Chuck was grinning, but Herc kissed it hard from his face, lifting Chuck until he was pressed against the mirror, his legs around Herc’s waist.

“So you like this one,” he asked, getting hard in the leather shorts, needing to get free of them. Fast.

“I fuckin’ like this one,  you cross-dressing prat,” replied Herc, with a low growl as his hands found the buckle to the tiny scrap of shorts and undoing them.

“You’ll have to let me -”

Herc practically dropped him, and Chuck made a sound of complaint as he shifted for balance, before Herc yanked the shorts down to his ankles and stood back up, whirling Chuck until he had his hands braced against the mirror and he was looking at himself.

“Look at you, you little slut. Stay there. Don’t. Move.”

Chuck swallowed hard, wondering what it meant, as Herc went off into the costume shop. It was embarrassing, especially when the curtain got left open. How would they explain it to the attendant if she came back to see Chuck’s bare ass sticking out and hoping for Herc?

Herc returned a minute later. “Woman’s gone for a complicated coffee order. We’ve got fifteen minutes.” He had something in his hands. “Close your eyes.”

Chuck did as he was told, stepping when Herc beckoned him to, and something was strapped around his waist.

When he was told to open his eyes, he blushed hard. Herc had gone and found a fucking  _skirt._  Chuck didn’t have words for clothes, but it matched the outfit with its random cuts of cloth hanging from a leather belt, on which a knife was sheathed. Not a real knife, he suspected, but the look was completed, and Herc was grinning.

“You call me a fucking cross-dressing pervert,” said Chuck, but his cock was throbbing, pushing the material up.

“Says the lil fucker hard enough to hang a towel off of,” was the sweet reply, as Herc reached around to pull the skirt up to reveal Chuck’s cock, and he stroked him a few times, making Chuck whine. “I’ll have you coming all over that mirror.”

“No lube,” said Chuck, with a whine, as his dad started stroking him.

“Then you’ll deal with a hand job,” he said, “and you’ll let me fuck you in that later.”

Chuck just nodded, watching Herc’s calloused hand stroke him until he was leaking, and Herc was spreading it over his head, rubbing until Chuck’s toes were curling as his dad pulled his foreskin back and pressed his thumb against the head of Chuck’s cock.

His mouth was at Chuck’s neck, like a vampire, and he bit down a little bit, enough to make Chuck arch some.

“Daddy-”

“Come for me baby boy. Look at how pretty you are, and come for me,” his dad urged, his voice too much.

Chuck shuddered, splattering the mirror, leaning hard, legs turned to jello.

“Daddy,” said Chuck, and Herc kissed him. 

“Use your boxers to clean up that mess, and get out of that ridiculous costume, while I find us something to  _actually_  wear tonight.”


	6. step, step, step, turn

They went in separately, possibly because they were fighting, possibly because Chuck wanted to surprise Herc. He’d spent a lot of money on his mask and tuxedo, and he wanted to look as good as possible, not that he’d ever admit it to the old man that this was his main desire.

He arrived feeling delightfully anonymous. There was no press, it was just a PPDC event, black tie, complete with masks. Chuck steered towards the drink table, helped himself to some scotch, and decided to wander.

No sign of Herc that he saw. One of maybe Mako, wearing a cat mask that was in black and blue, camouflaging her highlights. Next to her was someone much bigger, in a plainer mask. Had to be Raleigh.

Steering clear, Chuck went by the food next. The Russians were obvious, and Sasha looked stunning in her scarlet dress. The Wei Triplets moved too much in tandem to be anyone else.

Chuck ate by himself, feeling out of sorts in his dog mask, straining for a glimpse of his father, when he felt a hand touch his back.

He turned to see a man in a lion mask, and with it hiding his hair at that angle, it took him a moment to recognize those blue eyes.  _Dad,_  he thought, and almost said.

“Care for a dance?” they asked instead, which took Chuck back a bit, because their exact argument had been over just  _that._ Even though dance was a part of their synchronizing training, Herc had told him he wouldn’t be caught dead dancing outside, anywhere.

Not about to pass up the opportunity, Chuck raised his hand, and the two of them turned together into the dancers.

They weren’t the only same sex pairing. Many drift partners were dancing together. Now, with a waltz striking up with the band, even the triplets were pulling off intricate maneuvers with each other that looked like performance art.

Chuck fought for a moment for lead, but Herc stepped until Chuck fell into suit. He had only eyes for Herc, who was smiling some behind the mask.

“Is it because no one can tell it’s you?” he asked, when the dancing got more extravagant, their steps in perfect time with each other.

“Something like that,” replied Herc, turning with him, and Chuck smiled to himself, feeling maybe a bit stupid for being so childlike about it.

“Well, good. You’re being a goddamn stick in the mud, that’s what.”

“Are you taking a piss?” asked Herc, the dander coming up, showing in his dance moves. “I’m actually doing what  _you_  want and you’re giving me shit?”

Chuck grinned. “Maybe.”

They both turned a few more times before the song ended and they stepped away. But before Chuck got far Herc pulled him in, kissing him, and Chuck quaked because of how  _public_  it was.

But no one was looking. Just a couple people, could be techs, could not be, sharing a quick kiss.

“Save the smart assery for later, kid.”

“Then see you don’t miss the next few steps, old man.”


	7. bad touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day Five - Monster

“Where the fuck did you get these?” demanded Herc, staring at the tank sitting in the middle of their dorm.

“Where do you think I got them?” said Chuck, taking a pen and tickling the contents, with an amused cooing sound.

Like the things were actually cute. Right.

“Newton.”

“Newt, yep. They’re so cute.”

“Cute…” A long purple tentacle sucked at the glass before pulling away with a wet sound. “Right.”

“Newt Geiszler Brand Tentacles.”

“He… he branded them?”

Herc wondered if Newt would at some point try to get a Trademark on them, and the idea was as hilarious as it was terrifying.

Never mind the bloody abomination this was, to make whatever the fuck these were on the table wriggling away and goddamn stretching for him like a babby wanting to be picked up from his basket. Like they wanted to be held and played with. Like they knew they weren’t even alone.

“They’re made splicing human and Kaiju DNA. So they can be controlled by humans.” Chuck paused, petting one.

“How do they know where I am?”

“They sense thermal energy. You should try one on.”

“What?” The sound was approaching deadly.

Chuck sighed, reached in the tank, and before Herc could properly swat the boy, tentacles and all, with a soft sucking sound the base of a group was attached to his arm. They were heavy, organic, and Herc felt like he’d grown several extra arms in a matter of moments.

Brain going still to process it, so did the tentacles.

With a laugh, Chuck picked up another piece, and before Herc could say ‘no’ (and did he really want to, this was sort of amazing) these were stuck to his chest.

He stretched them. They listened, and Chuck stood back to watch his handiwork.

“This is fucking wrong, even for you.”

“Not the words I’d use,” said Chuck.

“And what words would you use, you little wanker?” By now, Herc was really playing with them. Stretching them, waving them, rubbing them over each other. The feeling was… pleasant. Not quite as good as sinking balls deep, but still had an ache approaching sexual feelings.

“Fuck me?”

Herc stared at him. The tentacles froze, and for a brief moment Herc thought about telling the little cunt to sod off and take them with him.

But it never happened.

“Get on the bed.”

\+  +  +

It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but it works. Chuck stripped down to nothing but his tags and what god gave him on the day of his birth in record time. He was sitting on the bunk, looking expectant, as Herc shifted the tentacles off his arm to the other side of his chest.

“If these give me any kind of hickey, kid, I’ll spank you black and blue.”

“Like to see you try,” Chuck replied.

“I look like a monster.”

“My sexy secret hentai dream come true. Hurry up.”

Stripping was a little harder. The tentacles all wanted to help, and in the end he growled an order at Chuck and waited.

His boy sauntered up, undoing his pants, pushing them down. Herc stepped out of them, making one of his new appendages reach out to give Chuck a shove back onto the bed.

He crawled over him, slowly, reaching out to press them over Chuck’s skin. Each one felt unusual, sexual. He wanted more, imagined what they’d feel like soft and slick.

One of them played near Chuck’s lips. His boy darted his tongue out, licking along the tip. The sensation made Herc gasp, as it trilled straight down to the skin of his chest, making Herc go thick in his jeans, his nipples get hard.

“Christ.”

“You like that?” asked Chuck, doing it again, before he sucked on it a moment, making Herc groan. Just as good as a blow job.

“I hate you,” he said, but Chuck merely grinned, doing it again.

Maneuvering was more work, trying to slick chuck up while the tentacles helped.

“Just concentrate,” said Chuck.

Herc grunted, pushing two fingers inside of Chuck, making him gasp and shut up the way Herc wanted him to, while he did what he could to make the writhing mass on his chest move coherently.

He slid one down Chuck’s chest, experimenting. Another brushed his abs, another his cock. When Chuck started to moan Herc, carefully, wrapped one around and stroked. Chuck gasped, Herc tensed, and there was a moment while they both stared at each other.

“Dad – you’re squeezing-”

Herc let out a breath, the tentacle relaxed, and the two of them laughed.

“Thank-god, no popping off my dick.”

Herc rolled his eyes, focusing harder. Fucking his fingers in, stroking more with the tentacles. Each sensation making Herc want to groan and fall forward, just  _feel._

“Daddy,” Chuck begged now, “daddy, fuck me-”

Herc pulled his hand away, and using one tentacle he pressed against his boy’s entrance. Chuck made a bizzare face between pleasure and confusion as Herc pushed, and pushed, and nearly came just from it alone.

“Jesus Christ on a Roo, boy,” said Herc, using another to wrap around his own dick and began to stroke.

It didn’t last long, between the two of them. Chuck was swearing up a storm and twitching beneath him, each simple touch of those stupid tentacles on Chuck’s body, the pressing deep inside of him, how tight he was quivering around the damn thing, drove Herc to the edge quicker than he’d like.

The boy at least came first, bless him.

“We’re fucking keeping these,” said Chuck, when Herc pulled out and had to take them off, depositing them back into their tank, high enough that they wouldn’t get near Max, which would be truly horrifying.

“We’re not.”

“Fine. But I get to use em next.”


End file.
